


too many steps

by tobeconvincedoflove



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras is an Idiot, Frostbite, Gen, Hypothermia, So yeah, because garret is an asshat, but I don't, but it's in that universe, coulson valjean, courfeyrac is trip, don't need to know agents of shield to read it, enjolras is a death machine, i should edit things, jolybossuet is fitzsimmons, may combeferre, mentioned child abuse, oh yeah and thernadier is garret, skye grantaire, so grant!enjolras because maybe that way grant isn't evil, so here have this, vaguely shield au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he keeps walking, maybe it'll turn out okay.</p>
<p>(Or, the vaguely S.H.I.E.L.D. AU that is a product of me not being able to finish Season 1 of said tv show because I can't accept that Grant Ward is evil. So here's a fix it... kind of. Maybe.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	too many steps

It’s a border-line suicide mission, so Valjean lets him send Enjolras. Grantaire kind of hates him for it, but he’s not in a position to question the level eight agent, not when he’s, you know, not even level one. But Enjolras is the specialist, a mouthy death machine. That’s not even an exaggeration; everyone has seen Enjolras’s death count grow and grow, but it doesn’t seem to affect the agent, so they let it be. Not that they’d know if anything affects Enjolras… not even the genius of JolyBossuet and Combeferre’s calculating gaze can pull out even a shred of human from their teammate. 

“What was the ETA for the mission?” Grantaire asks no one in particular, hands hovering above the keyboard of his shiny, new S.H.I.E.L.D. laptop. “It’s well below zero, and he’s not exactly equipped for a long time outdoors.” 

“Stop worrying.” This time the voice isn’t one of his team’s, but of Courfeyrac, who’s staying with them while his SO is out on a solo mission. Courfeyrac’s SO was Enjolras’s, and Enjolras trusts Courfeyrac more than anyone besides Thernadier himself. “He knows what he’s doing. You should hear how Thernadier goes on about him… apparently Enjolras has lasted more than six months in the wilderness without any tools, so I don’t think a little excursion in the snow will be the end of him. Thernadier wouldn’t have given him the mission if he didn’t think he could do it, and Valjean wouldn’t have agreed to it.” 

“It’s not for a few hours,” Valjean reassures his newest protégé, but his smile is tighter than normal. 

“Stop worrying. Enjolras asked me to spar with you later, so be there,” Combeferre says, his voice its normal, emotionless tone. Enjolras being his SO, Grantaire knows why, but it doesn’t mean he has to look forward to it. There’s a reason they call Combeferre The Cavalry, and Grantaire guesses that it has something to do with her lethal nature. (But, of course, it doesn’t even come close to rivaling Enjolras’s himself.) 

“It’s just a routine thing,” Joly pips in, nodding a lot as he talks. “Pop in, eliminate the threat, pop out again. He’s done it thirteen times in the past six months.” The statistic obviously calms down the collective JolyBossuet, but not Grantaire. He doesn’t know why, but something feels horribly wrong about this. He just doesn’t know what. 

****

*

Enjolras starts counting his steps, screwing Valjean’s voice at the back of his head that keeps telling him compartmentalizing is unhealthy. It’s better than thinking about Wyoming winters and not having anything because whenever he starts to not struggle Thernadier shows up and fucks everything up. But he can’t think like that. He’s grateful to Thernadier, for picking him up out of that hellhole. Even if it feels like he never left.

(500 steps)

Glancing down, Enjolras checks to make sure he still has the little girl. _Fucking dammit, Thernadier_ , he can’t help but think, cursing every part of this mission. He knows it’s a punishment for getting too comfy with Valjean’s team, but this… he deliberately didn’t tell Enjolras the correct intel, like how he’d have to shoot up the couple in front of the little girl they’d apparently taken captive. And that she was already bleeding to death. And that the fucking sled would run out of energy halfway _there_.

Luckily, he’s still got a grip on her, but Enjolras can’t feel his arms at this point. He’s got his jacket wrapped around her and all of his bandages trying to keep that stomach wound from killing her, but she hasn’t stirred in hours. At least Enjolras thinks it’s been hours. He’s not sure. All he knows is that he’s going in the right direction and that he can’t have more than ten hours of walking left. It’s already been almost a day nonstop. _You can’t stop._ Now it’s Thernadier’s voice at the back of his head. _You stop now and you’re dead, boy. Stop walking and you just lay down and die._

“Just a little bit more. Hang on,” Enjolras says, but he doesn’t know if any sound actually escapes his mouth. He knows he can’t hold the girl much longer; his arms aren’t responding to anything he’s doing but he can’t just leave her. A fireman’s carry could fuck up her wound even more but… Enjolras can’t leave her. He knows that much. 

(1237 steps)

Fuck it. Now she’s over his shoulder and Enjolras manages to tune out everything for a while. He keeps walking, trying not to think about how white everything around him is. There are snowflakes on his lips and probably in his lungs and it looks so perfect. (2563 steps) It’s not even cold anymore, so Enjolras gives up his long-sleeved shirt and wraps it around her. Now he’s just in his tee shirt and somehow it feels better. So Enjolras keeps walking. 

At step 3428, Enjolras stumbles. Trying desperately to keep from hurting the girl more, he lands awkwardly. When he manages to haul himself up again, Enjolras sees his right arm, and he doesn’t think that’s quite the angle it should be, but he can’t feel it, so he tries to pick up the girl again. But his hands aren’t responding. Shit. He can’t be that far from the Bus…

The only way she’s going to get help is if he leaves her and goes and gets help. So he bundles her up tighter and leans her against a tree, trying to shield her from the snow that’s still falling. If he’s less than ten hours from base, he only has a few thousand (probably tens of thousands) steps to go. Enjolras can do this. Right? 

****

*

“He was supposed to be back five hours ago, at the very latest,” Courfeyrac says, in Valjean’s office. “We have to send someone out to look for him.”

“We can’t. That mission is a solo mission, and sending out people is a red flare to Enjolras’s location.” Valjean’s voice is calm, but his normal placid smile is just a little bit tighter. 

“He could die.” Courfeyrac’s voice is shaking with anger, and with worry. Thernadier would be so pissed if Enjolras didn’t come back… “It is too cold for him to be out there for so long. I have enough med training to realize that, and if you think JolyBossuet isn’t already doing the math you’re wrong.” 

“We can’t. It’s not even our place to do anything about it. It’s Thernadier’s,” Valjean says, going back to his paperwork. 

“He’s on a fucking mission!” Courfeyrac spits, now drawing the team leader’s full attention. He knows he’s drawn the attention of everyone else on the goddamn plane, but he doesn’t care at this point. “Combeferre agrees that this is bullshit, and he doesn’t generally voice his opinions.” 

“I’m actually more here to make sure you don’t do something you regret,” Combeferre says from where he’s leaning against the door. “But yes. You need to pull him out.” 

“It’s not my call. He doesn’t have a tracker on, so there’s nothing we can do,” Valjean says, with an air of finality. “Javert’s already being pissy, and we can’t afford to pull Director Lamarque in for this small of a thing.” Scowling, Courfeyrac storms out of the office. And straight to the hanger. When Enjolras gets here, he’s going to be waiting. 

He doesn’t expect everyone else to join him. 

****

*

It’s been too many steps and Enjolras can’t count anymore. He isn’t sure how far he’s walked or how he’s still going but he doesn’t think he’s close and he doesn’t know how much longer than he can go. Now that he thinks about it, squinting into the whiteness, Enjolras doesn’t remember when he stopped being cold, but it was before he left the little girl. And now he really doesn’t want to keep the shirt he has on on. It’s not doing anything. A voice that sounds like Grantaire is yelling at him to keep it on, though, and he figures he should listen to it. So he keeps it on. (Would he have even been able to take it off, though?)

But he’s not going to stop walking. It’s been more than thirty hours and he’s not going to prove to Thernadier and Valjean and _Grantaire_ and everyone else how fucking weak he is. He’s going to keep walking and dammit why did he stop counting. Now he has no idea how close or far he is and it’s driving him crazy. Enjolras just wants to stop. 

So he keeps walking. One foot is swallowed into the white and he can’t stop thinking that he doesn’t want to die in someplace that reminds him so much of Wyoming. Of Buddy. But Buddy’s dead and if he doesn’t keep fucking going so he will be too. 

After that, it’s like he’s asleep, but he knows he doesn’t stop because suddenly there’s a lot of yelling and the grinding of machines and then the cargo door is open. Hands are hauling him inside, hands that cause a sharp pain throughout the numbness. He doesn’t know exactly what they’re saying, but Enjolras doesn’t think it’s good as they ease him to the ground.

“The girl. You’ve gotta—“ Enjolras rasps out, but his voice is tearing through his lungs and it hurts too much. “The girl.” 

“What’s your name?” Courfeyrac’s voice is deadly calm, and Enjolras thinks it’s a dumb question. Until it takes him a minute to remember.

“Grant Enjolras. You’ve gotta… there’s a girl,” he manages to get out, trying to ignore the people swarming and observing. 

“We will. It hasn’t snowed in a while. We’ll follow your trail. Right now you’ve gotta focus, though, Enjolras,” Joly soothes, and Enjolras knows she’s already cataloging. “How old are you?”

“The girl… hurry,” Enjolras says, because they have to know and they have to go get her. He’s fine; he just has to have a corner to crawl in and sleep his off. 

“Valjean and Grantaire left with some sleds. I doubt she’s far. But you have to focus, Enjolras. _How old are you_?” This time it’s Combeferre’s voice, and Enjolras has to think for a while. 

“Twenty-four,” he manages eventually, trying to pull his hands away from Courfeyrac, who’s rubbing them and making it hurt through the numbness. 

“Get him under a hot shower. Be careful removing his clothes; he has high degree frostbite. Bossuet, start warming up a saline solution… he’s slow and he’s exhibiting illogical thinking, removing clothes and all. Also prepare glucose, and Courf, watch out for circulatory collapse,” Joly orders, and suddenly there are arms under Enjolras and he knows he has to protest. 

“I can walk.” Enjolras knows his voice is barely there, but all of this fuss isn’t necessary. He feels fine (he can’t feel anything). 

“Shut it,” is all Courfeyrac says as he lifts the shorter man, the others following suit. Enjolras finally lets his eyes slip shut, letting the tiredness cover him like a cloak. 

There’s something quite loud going on the next time Enjolras peels them apart. There’s uncomfortably hot water pouring down, making every inch of him hurt, and Courfeyrac is doing something to his left hand while Combeferre cuts off his shirt. Enjolras immediately panics, especially when he feels how heavy his right arm is, but his legs work beautifully and in a second Courfeyrac is thrown off, the pain receding. Just as he starts fighting to stand up against the slippery floor, Combeferre grabs his left arm and pins it against the wall he’s propped up against, using his other arm to hold Enjolras’s chest still. 

“Not a good idea,” he says, eyes unreadable but voice just a bit warmer than normal. “Stop fighting. I don’t think you can handle a sedation right now.” So, Enjolras does, before glancing down his right arm. It’s completely immobilized in a wrap, but it doesn’t hurt. Unlike his other hand, which Courfeyrac has begun working on again. Eventually, it gets a different kind of wrap, and Courfeyrac moves to his feet and begins more of the torture as Enjolras feels absolute fire start crawling up his left arm into his chest. A soft moan escapes as he looks for the source, and finds out that Combeferre inserted in IV in Enjolras’s arm without him even realizing it. The heat of the solution is killing him, and now Enjolras can’t stop goddamn trembling, so much so that Combeferre has to hold him steady in order to peel one of his boots off. 

“You’re doing fine,” Courfeyrac mumbles, as now both he and Combeferre work on cutting off his pants and on his waxy feet. “Just try to relax, E.” 

“The girl…” he whispers, trying to ignore just how much it hurts leaving his chest. Breathing is becoming more and more difficult; it feels like his lungs are frozen shut. 

“Joly and Bossuet are with her right now,” is all Combeferre says, but it’s enough. They found her, so she’s going to be okay. He’s about to let himself fall asleep, but then something pinches him. “No. You’ve got to stay awake, at least until Joly looks at you again. It could be dangerous.” 

“I’m okay,” Enjolras tries to say, but the only thing that comes out is an embarrassing moan as the pain in his feet increases. But his eyes manage to stay at least part of the way open, until the hot water is turned off and Combeferre goes to lift him onto the stretcher that’s waiting. “I can do it.” 

“Well, you’re not,” is all Courfeyrac says, as he runs about looking for supplies. 

“Walked thirty hours… can walk a few seconds to the medbay,” Enjolras argues, ignoring how his head keeps drooping down to his chest. There’s a weird wheeze to his words, but he doesn’t care about it too much. 

“And that’s exactly why you’re not going to,” Combeferre states, before making quick work of transferring Enjolras to the stretcher. Then there’s towels and Courfeyrac helps him into a S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatpants, not even trying with a shirt with the cast and IV line. Enjolras is still shivering violently, almost violent enough that he falls off the stretcher, even when Combeferre covers him in three thermal blankets and as many normal ones. So Combeferre holds him in place on the stretcher. 

“The girl,” Enjolras tries again, but Combeferre and Courfeyrac share a look. Now’s not the time, it seems to say, but just then Enjolras flinches in pain, causing Combeferre to strengthen his grip. 

“How’s he doing?” a new voice asks, this time Bossuet. “Joly will be here in a minute, after we transfer him to the bed.” 

“Not good,” Courfeyrac replies, before rattling off medical information. Enjolras takes the opportunity to let his eyes slip shut (despite a few pinches he knows are from Combeferre), but they’re forced open again too soon. Blinking a little, Enjolras realizes he’s on a real bed, and now there are two IV bags that burn even more going up his arm. 

“Hey, E,” Joly’s voice greets, and Enjolras immediately tries to sit up. “No. You’ve got to stay lying down.” Surprisingly, Enjolras listens, and settles back against the pillow, now fighting the urge to curl up into a ball to try to get some warmth. He’s _so_ cold, now, and everything is numb but sore at the same time. And breathing is difficult. 

“Don’t freak out. I’m just putting these on,” Bossuet’s voice is quick and nervous, but Enjolras doesn’t even crack his eyes open more to watch the scientist put what appears to be homemade heaters on both of his feet and his left hand. 

“Is it broken?” Enjolras croaks, trying to move his right arm. He doesn’t succeed. 

“Yes,” Joly answers simply, checking on the monitor next to the bed. “Dammit, Enjolras.” Enjolras doesn’t know what that means, but it’s probably not good. 

“Hey,” a new voice says, stopping Joly in his tracks, and Enjolras knows it’s Grantaire. “Valjean said you needed me to keep an eye on Mr. Arctic Robot?” 

“Yes, I’ve got to go…” but Joly trails off, still reading Enjolras’s machines. “Run for me immediately if he starts getting any worse. I’m going to give him a morphine shot but everything is still horrendously low and I don’t want to put in another IV drip but I might need to if nothing goes back up.”

“No morphine,” Enjolras manages to get out, his words barely a wheeze. When Thernadier gets here, he can’t see him doped up and weak. 

“Yes morphine,” Joly says, before making quick work of injecting the agent. “If his breathing doesn’t improve, there’s oxygen equipment right here. Bossuet?” The scientist’s words are clipped, and Enjolras knows he’s missing something major. But then JolyBossuet is gone and it’s just Enjolras and Grantaire. Unable to ignore it anymore, Enjolras just curls into a ball, fighting the urge to scream at the spikes of pain in his feet. 

“You look like hell,” Grantaire says, sitting down right next to his SO. “Not even warmed over. Just hell.” 

“Thanks. Any word from Thernadier?” Enjolras asks immediately, not even bothering to hide how fucking needy he’s being. 

“He’s on his way. Just finished his mission, and wants to check up on you before he and Courf head out again,” Grantaire says, one had grabbing Enjolras’s wrapped left one, the warmth causing Enjolras to flinch a little. 

“I should be there when he talks to her.” There’s an aura of decidedness about his words, so Grantaire immediately springs into action. Sure enough, Enjolras swings his legs over the edge of the bed, before starting to stand up.

“Nope,” is all Grantaire can say, too focused on getting Enjolras to stay in the goddamn bed. “Dude, you might lose your fucking feet, so I don’t suggest walking on them.” 

“I’m fine, R.” Enjolras is still struggling, but both the pain and the morphine are working against him. Once he moves to pull the first IV out of his arm, Grantaire swears.

“Fuck this. You’re not going anywhere; you’re going to stay in that damn bed because you’re actually pretty damn close to ending up dead or I’m going to get not just JolyBossuet in here but Combeferre. And he _will_ know a fucking knot that you can’t get out of and will tie your frozen ass to the bed.” After a few seconds, Enjolras gives up against the grip Grantaire has his wrist in and helps him ease back onto the mattress, before covering him up with the blankets again. 

“You gotta be there, then. She shouldn’t be alone,” Enjolras croaks out, his breaths getting stuck in his lungs. “I’m fine.” 

“Yeah right,” Grantaire snorts. “I need to make sure you don’t make a run for it, because Valjean warned us about you. Apparently you’re a mix between toddler and death machine when ill, and that’s a fucking awful combination.” 

“But what about the girl?” Enjolras asks, curling back into himself as a fresh wave of pain begins. “No one will fucking tell me anything.” 

“They still don’t know,” Grantaire says, and thanks whatever’s up there that Enjolras is too busy becoming a deadly ball of blankets to look at him, because then he’d call him on his bullshit. But the sight was quite pathetic, and there was no way Enjolras was going to get any better unless someone literally held him in place to keep from stressing his body even more. 

“Ugh, you’re ridiculous.” After a few careful seconds, where Grantaire’s careful not to put any weight on Enjolras’s feet, he’s behind the mop of blond curls. While his arms are not as pure of muscle as Enjolras’s, they’re strong and do the job of holding the agent in place. For a few painful minutes, Enjolras shivers uncontrollably and squirms in discomfort, but then as his breathing slowly starts to even out (as much as it can, considering it’s barely there), he relaxes into Grantaire. Confident that he’s asleep, Grantaire manages to maneuver himself enough to set Enjolras up with the oxygen mask, and then just lets the other man steal his body heat. 

Only twenty minutes later, everyone except Thernadier, who’s apparently not back yet, crowd into the room. Grantaire quietly assures them that he didn’t tell Enjolras that the girl died (but not from the cold… Enjolras made sure of that. It was the damn stomach wound) as Joly prepares yet another IV, frowning as he does so. 

“I’ll wake him up before the boss gets here,” Courfeyrac says, raking a hand through his hair. “Until, then, just keep the idiot down.” 

“Did the morphine help at all?” Joly’s voice is filled with worry, but Grantaire can’t lie, so he shakes his head. “Dammit.” 

“He did try to get up and leave, though, so there’s that.” At Grantaire’s voice, the agent asleep in his arms stirs a little, but Grantaire just tightens his grip a little, and the blond stops stirring as he leans into R just a bit more. 

“Who’s going to be the one to tell Agent Deadly that he almost got killed by a bit of cold?” Courfeyrac’s voice is a little too cheerful, but it helps. 

“He shouldn’t have been on the mission.” With that, Combeferre turns and leaves the room, Courfeyrac following quickly. 

“I’ll be back,” Valjean’s warm voice promises, with a small smile at Enjolras. At that moment, Grantaire does not envy Agent Thernadier, because he’s going to get a shitstorm thrown at him from Valjean. 

“We’ll be running some labs.” And then, it’s just Grantaire and Enjolras again. 

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Enjolras’s voice is barely there, and muffled by the oxygen mask. He doesn’t do anything after that except tense, and Grantaire knows that he knows and that this is as damn close to crying as the agent will ever get. 

“She didn’t even have frostbite; she was still warm when we found her… warmer than you are right now. There was shrapnel in her chest, E. Not your fault,” R gets out, having to work extra hard to keep Enjolras still and in the bed. 

“I failed, R. I have to prepare to tell Thernadier,” is all Enjolras offers as explanation, but there’s not that much fight left in the man. Right now, Grantaire knows Enjolras is hurting and knows he’s closer to the scared little kid getting the shit beat out of him than Special Agent Enjolras, level seven S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. 

“That can wait. You’re hurt and sick and you if you get out of the bed there’s a good chance you’ll die.” Grantaire’s words are blunt, but they do the trick. Enjolras relaxes, eventually drifting back into unconsciousness. 

But Grantaire has to wake him up too soon, eliciting a soft whimper of pain from the blond agent, when Thernadier walks in, fuming. Valjean’s at his heels, looking severely pissed off at the scene he knows is going to happen, but he doesn’t stop Thernadier from laying it on Enjolras, who just nods, struggling to sit up and take off the oxygen mask, to look a fraction less weak (Grantaire could shoot him for that kind of thinking) in front of his mentor, but it’s obvious how much he hurts. Eventually, Valjean drags Thernadier out of the room, somewhere around where Enjolras’s heart rate becomes even more erratic and his breathing all but disappears, and Grantaire’s left with a shaking mess as Enjolras tries not to think. 

“He’s fucking out of line,” Grantaire says, a stream of meaningless words following. It takes him a painful amount of time to replace the mask and ease Enjolras back down, and he’s coiled into himself again. 

R knows he has some hacking to do, regarding Thernadier, later. Right now he’ll be content to keep Enjolras from killing himself. Joly comes in, shaking with anger, Combeferre hot on his heels. They sit near the door, and Grantaire knows that Combeferre’s there to keep Thernadier out. 

It takes a painful amount of time, and another shot of morphine, for Enjolras to slowly relax again, and somehow Grantaire ends up entangled with his SO again. He doesn’t mind, though, because Enjolras might be heavily muscled, but most of it’s hidden and he’s rather small, and he looks so unthreatening in Grantaire’s arms. 

There will definitely be blackmail pictures, for the next time he tries to have two boxing training sessions in one day, though.


End file.
